By Myriam Moufid
She will walk on somewhere
to breathe onto this new flag,
she will bet for a glimpse of your eyes
for this land of senile sensation,
she will turn her back, cover her tracks
to forget her nude body,
she will ask her heart for a moment
for a scene of this walled time,
she will burn slow foreshadow
of the auction of a broken welcome,
she will envy this inbred nation
to embrace her chained son.
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